


What Goes Forgotten

by The_Birds_And_Bees



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chara Being An Asshole, Gen, Mettaton Being An Asshole, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, most of the cast is an asshole who'dathunkit, semi-soft Chara?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:58:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Birds_And_Bees/pseuds/The_Birds_And_Bees
Summary: It is remarkable, the spell they cast on others. Directing his camera to slowly pan across the small sea of faces around him, Mettaton notices the way their eyes do the same; the manner in which they ensure their message is heard. That everyone within earshot feels that their words are for them, and them alone.A born actor.





	What Goes Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> For Vanessa, whom I love! I hope you continue to bring joy to my life, darling; you do it oh so well.

* * *

 

**Hi**

**I exist.**

* * *

 

In show business, it’s important to maintain a sense of flexibility and adaptation. Interviews can be delayed; sudden, exciting news can overtake the intended programming with only minutes for the change to occur. Frisk’s arrival in Hotland had certainly been one such experience; possibly the most diverse and sudden he’d had. Though not everything had gone as expected, he could only take the experience for what it was; an example, a taste of how much larger his work would be upon the surface.

The difference, he supposed, would be in having Blooky at his side; quiet as his cousin may be, they have their own particular set of skills which would make their partnership a blessing in disguise. He had Frisk to thank for that, with every intention of letting the smaller human know, once they all moved to the surface. Which would be any moment now.

Any moment.

Any moment now.

There is plenty to plan for; monsters were moving their entire lives; generations of lives from one place to another in a permanent fashion. He had a business to run, an announcement of their freedom to air, a cousin to reconnect with; and yet he finds himself standing around twiddling his thumbs, tapping a heel against the ground and waiting, just like the rest of the Underground, for a sign that their preparations were ready to become action, movement.

Frisk made their appearance in Waterfall a good six hours ago. There should be some sign, some indication by now, _surely._ Still, there’s nothing. Perhaps it’s simply an unfortunate consequence of living in the boons; if Undyne still lived next door, news would reach here much faster. Now, this corner of the world seemed very isolated.

Mettaton, as the star of the Underground, needs to be part of the action. It’s a requirement, one that has him torn between the gratitude of a forgiving family that welcomed him with open arms, and the regret that he had not stayed at the epicentre of the action when he’d already been present.

“Ah, Blooky, my dear…”

“....yes….Mettaton?” Doleful eyes peer up at him, very little indication of happiness in their expression; but he knows they’re happy. Has taken note of the way those very eyes have rarely gone a minute without glancing his way, these last six hours. His cousin has very little to move; packing had taken less than half an hour. His own house would remain locked and abandoned- there was nothing of note, nothing to take.

That reasoning, of course, was mildly influenced by the absent key with which to open the front door. Details. One mustn’t dwell on metal thrown away in a pique of drama.

“I feel my audience calling to me; they have questions, a need for information. And alas, I am simply too far from the Capital to provide these valuable answers!” Every line draws a shift in his body; a flourish of his arm that ends with a hand pressed to his forehead. “I fear for my ratings if I am unable to meet such intense demands. Perhaps, for now, it is best if we part ways- to meet again prior to our jubilant return to the Surface.”

It would be much easier to simply say; _I am not abandoning you, but I am bored._ It is, of course, not what he says at all, leaving poor Blooky to interpret each line with the skill born from years of dealing with such vague implications.

“oh….yes… I think you’re right…..” Slowly, a smile appears on the ghost’s face; tiny, but encouraging. “you should go….and I’ll watch you too….”

“...You could come with me.” He says softly, and all poise drops, for the moment. Less the star the Underground needs, and more the cousin he had forgotten to be, all this time. Napstablook blinks up at him, slowly shaking their head- or body, as it were.

“it’s okay…. I’d rather stay at home…. I’ll be there…. vicariously.”

“Then I shall ensure it is one of my finest performances yet.” He promises; and the first steps he takes away from the farm are light and full of buoyancy. No longer the unhappy being he’d been before; each step comes with the promise to return.

It is an altogether different feeling entirely.

And as such, it deserves an altogether different approach to his usual presentations.

“HELLO, BEAUTIES AND GENTLEBEAUTIES! AND WELCOME TO A VERY SPECIAL PRESENTATION- OUR JUBILANT RETURN TO THE SURFACE! I CAN FEEL YOUR EXCITEMENT ALREADY!” And to an extent, he can. He can, through the immediate ratings that hit his sensors. Two hundred viewers, five hundred- for every step he takes, the number continues to rise, nearly as fast as his previous episode; Attack of the Killer Robot. “TODAY, I’LL BE VISITING MTT RESORT; TO SCOPE OUT OUR MOST EXCITED VIEWERS, WHO’LL HAVE THE CHANCE TO DOCUMENT THEIR OWN EXPERIENCE WITH THE HUMAN FRISK, AND THEIR HOPES AND DREAMS FOR THE SURFACE ABOVE!”

A pop; confetti dances through the air in front of the screen, obscuring a few deft movements that have Mettaton cleaving his way through the rest of Waterfall; into Hotland, and the elevator awaiting his arrival.

“OUR EXCLUSIVITY DOESN’T STOP THERE, FOLKS! EVEN NOW, WE FOLLOW THE SAME PATH AS YOUNG FRISK HAD TAKEN; A WILD ELEVATOR RIDE TO THE HOTTEST LOCATION IN THE UNDERGROUND. WHO THEY MET, WHO THEY FOUGHT! WHO FELL IN LOVE WITH EVERYONE’S FAVORITE TINY HUMAN AS THEY DANCED THEIR WAY ACROSS THE SCREEN, AND INTO OUR HEARTS!”

Every mention of that tiny human bumps the ratings by a good thousand. Well over the final ratings of their own fight; well and truly into the territory of a good quarter of the population, watching him now. And the number simply keeps rising.

For once, he understands that it isn’t truly about himself. For once, the spotlight goes to the bated breath of every monster, waiting for the moment that has eluded them for centuries. It’s difficult to find any insult in that, when he himself waits just as impatiently for those two words.

_We’re free._

“AND HERE WE ARE, AT THE VERY FRONT OF EVERYONE’S FAVORITE HOLIDAY DESTINATION!” A bell dings, the doors slide open, and there he is. Strutting out onto the walkway in the midst of one very surprised looking salesman, and two rather abashed looking Royal Guards. He pounces immediately. Media takes no prisoners. “FROM THE VERY START OF THEIR JOURNEY, THERE WAS ALWAYS A TIME FOR SOMETHING COLD. MY GOOD SIR, HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOUR TIME WITH THE HUMAN FRISK?”

“Frisk?” The bunny’s ears perk up, in time with a rather lovely smile. Very photogenic; lovely for the audience. Mettaton focuses in on it immediately. “What a great customer; they always bought something, and appreciated even a smile! I can’t believe they were the human everyone was looking for; they’re always so nice.”

“A NICE HUMAN, WHAT A CHARMING CONCEPT!” Mettaton booms, and the cameras swivel immediately towards the two guardsmen, doing their very best to blend into the background. “HOW ABOUT YOU, GENTLEMAN? AS MEMBERS OF THE ROYAL GUARD, WHAT THRILLING TRIALS DID THE HUMAN UNDERGO TO SURPASS THE CAPITAL’S FINEST GUARD?”

“Uh, well, like,” The first guard trips over his words as the other (and Mettaton wastes little time in zooming in on exposed pecs, glistening with sweat. Two thousand more viewers tune in to stay). “We were like, scouting the area? And evacuating people. Frisk was kind of just there, and my...b-buddy, he goes to me- “their shirt”. And I’m like “what about their shirt, bro”? And then I took a look and totally realised; that’s the human. Embarrassing, right?”

“TRULY EMBARRASSING! I CAN’T IMAGINE YOU WILL EVER HEAR THE END OF IT!”

“Right?! And like, so I go to them “we totally have to kill you now”. And they’re like, totally quiet and all but chill, like, a totally chill little dude? And uh…”

Mettaton, of course, already knows the tale of their sordid love. He can still hear Alphys’ squeals ringing through the empty insides of his hair, smiling oh so jovially as he coyly asks and presses in all the right places, to gain an admission of love on live television. THE HUMAN HELPS OTHERS FIND LOVE scrolls across the bottom of television screens across the Underground, and he’s certain, looking at the ratings, that he has a good half of the entirety of monsters, watching every moment of this live special in utter rapture.

It is truly difficult to find any issue with why their tuning in, so long as they all continue to do so.

By the time he’s finished with those two, there’s a small crowd congregating around the front of the hotel. Yells of those who have met the human; yells from others, things he considers editing out, but truly, the world should know how desperately some wish for him to sign their butt. He pauses now and again, to allow those with insight to offer it. Offers a beaming smile and poses fantastically for the ones there for him and him alone, reveling in the ecstatic screams and a soft chant of “hot leg hot leg _hot leg_ ” his glorious figure sparks up.

He leaves them behind eventually, with a generous wave of his hands and a click of heels as the ground beneath him transforms from clay to shining marble, the soft sound of the fountain ahead and the flurry of voices from monsters clustering about the elevator. He’d already closed the hotel, staff simply in place to direct and offer people their best wishes; still, it remains a thoroughfare for those seeking to return home, to visit friends- get closer to the action.

Initially, his intention is to join the throng at its thickest. Exclusive interviews with those in the midst of preparing for the Surface and every wonder that awaits them; however, something else catches his eyes.

Or rather, someone catches his eyes. He’s hard pressed to place them from their natural locale; sweater too thin for Snowdin, clothes to clean for Waterfall. They must have drifted down from the Capital, at some point; completely separated from the monsters around them as a whole. Standing in front of the memorial fountain, staring up at his previous (albeit still glorious) figure. A fan, perhaps.

There’s nothing better than a fan.

“WELL WELL, WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?” To the audience, their response is easy and simple; a turn of their head to look at the camera with a set of vivid red eyes, a picture-perfect smile on their face. Mettaton is not so easily fooled. A trained eye picks up the stiffening of muscles in their shoulders and neck, the too careful arch of their lips, the way that warmth doesn’t reach their eyes. A true pity, for such a small child- one who looks remarkably similar to another, tiny child he knows.

The parallels between this child and the human are almost uncanny- still easily dismissed, however, as had there been two humans running about the Underground, he would have known, absolutely. Alphys would have known. The king? Certainly would have known.

When monsters and humans can look so alike, it’s no wonder that so many had found trouble in identifying Frisk for what they are.

“AMIDST THE HUSTLE AND BUSTLE OF OUR NEAR DEPARTURE, THERE ARE THOSE WHO SEEK OUT PLACES OF SOLACE; A FINAL VISITATION TO LOCATIONS OF MEANING, WHERE HOPES AND DREAMS IGNITE. TELL US, CHILD, WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE, OF ALL PLACES? WHAT HOPES AND DREAMS HAVE BEEN INSPIRED BY THIS SIMPLE FOUNTAIN?”

He isn’t quite sure they’re up for answering, at first. Smile frozen in place, they make no movements; hardly breathing, a case of stage fright if he’s ever seen one. And he’s about to reassure them; to break the ice and give them the opportunity to warm up to a few yes and no questions, when they finally speak.

“I was considering,” They say, in an accent that is crisp, and eloquent; hardly the tone of a simple child of the streets of the Capital. “About the significance of time.”

“OH?” Mettaton leans in, intrigued. It’s never too early for an introspective moment; something to draw the audience in with a concept that pulls deep thought, offers room for discussion. “HOW DEEP. HOW INSIGHTFUL. DO TELL US MORE. OUR AUDIENCE IS DYING TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS ON TIME ITSELF.”

The child’s smile becomes tighter, like a bowstring drawn taught. A brief, yet foreboding thought crosses his mind; what would happen, should that smile snap?

Such questions feel far more threatening than they really are.

“One doesn’t have to look too far; take this fountain, for example. A memorial to the Royal Family, is it not?” They gesture up, at the fountain that eclipses them, and he can appreciate the grandeur of their motions. Fluid, to the point. Adding to the panache, the overall gravitas of the moment.

A little actor, playing the crowd.

“Once upon a time, a human fell into the Underground. The prince and the human became as siblings. The Underground was full of hope.” They pause, eyes sliding away for but a moment. To the fountain, and back. “Such a moment is a memory of a dark time. A loss that could never be returned from. Two children in one night…”

“SUCH A TERRIBLE LOSS OF INNOCENCE. SUCH A DARK CHAPTER FOR MONSTERKIND. SOMEONE HAS BEING PAYING ATTENTION IN THEIR CLASSES.”

“Mettaton added last week.”

Ooh.

Oooh. Well isn’t that just, a slightly awkward direction for such a conversation to take. Their voice holds no accusation, light and pleasant, but they’re no longer looking at the camera. They’re looking to him directly, looking through him. Past metal and into his very SOUL.

“It’s striking, isn’t it? That past the construction of the barrier, the greatest tragedy monster kind has faced was immortalized. Fixed into stone so that we may never forget; never forget, why we looked forward to the destruction of humanity. Never forget, why every human who falls down here must die.”

“A VERY IMPORTANT TALE, ONE THAT WE MUST REMEMBER EVEN IN THIS TIME OF GREAT JOY.” He cuts them off with little hesitation, seeking to bring an end to- this, whatever it may be. Before it can get any worse. The ratings, of course, continue on their steady climb; it is hardly worth it, to hinge it upon such a conversation.

“We forgot anyway, did we not?” They retort; soft, and low. Nigh unblinking as they stand their ground, with their unerringly wide smile and increasingly rosy cheeks. “We forgot how the prince died.”

“I WOULD HARDLY SAY THAT MUCH! WHY, OUR BELOVED PRINCE’S DEMISE IS KNOWN THROUGHOUT MONSTERKIND; EVEN THE SMALLEST CHILD KNOWS OF HIS LOSS.”

“You mean that everyone recites a story.” The child corrects, and had he the teeth for it, Mettaton would likely grind them. “And in reciting it, we forget the key detail. Asriel had the power to destroy them all, but…”

“HE DID NOT STRIKE BACK.”

“He did not. Gathering the human into his arms, he smiled, and walked away.” Their fingers flex slowly at their sides; had he not known better, Mettaton would say they were finally returning to themself. Out of the recital that they’d been giving up until this point; except it’s hardly a recital. A child telling the whole and honest truth, gripping tens of thousands as their smile dulls just the slightest, as their eyes stop meeting the camera. Off to the side, lost in thought.

True melancholy, one would think. Even he himself isn’t certain where the act ends, and true emotion begins.

“A memorial was erected to remind us all of the loss that had been created; by a human, then the humans. To remind us why they could not be trusted. To encourage us in our rage and hate, and foster a sense of cheer and belief that King Asgore would set us free. King Asgore would free us all- and allow monsters to take the surface for their own.”

“THIS IS TRUE.”

“Quite. However, the prince did not die for this.” Their eyes return to the screen. Mettaton can imagine in that moment, the amount of hearts they capture with the intensity of their eyes and the pure power of their words. It is not simply those watching on the television who are caught.

More and more, the small crowd in the lobby dies down; those drawn towards Mettaton, the potential for the spotlight, to meet a star- caught by the wisdom from the lips of a child.

“He died for love. He died taking his deceased sibling to a garden in their village, to lay their body upon the flowers they had spoken to him about in every week of their small lives together. Had drawn and placed on the walls of their room. Filled with grief, he took their SOUL to fulfil the only wish they had made, one that could not be fulfilled when they were living.”

It is remarkable, the spell they cast on others. Directing his camera to slowly pan across the small sea of faces around him, Mettaton notices the way their eyes do the same; the manner in which they ensure their message is heard. That everyone within earshot feels that their words are for them, and them alone.

A born actor, perhaps. He can’t help the grudging admiration that fills him; that such a small being could take up so much space. It reminds him, in a way, of the days before the fallen human had faded from most minds. Those nostalgic memories and sad eyes, the manner in which most had chosen to speak of them. A child like no other, who captured an entire race, and gave them hope.

If nothing else, he is introducing this child to Frisk. He can only imagine how beneficial such a strong, intelligent voice would be for them.

“So I stand here, considering the significance of the passage of time. Of the lesson that was never learned in the first place; by the king. By monsters-” A slight lift of their chin, a rough, barely noticeable swallow. “by myself. And I wonder if perhaps, it is not simply humans who must make the effort to be a little better. If perhaps, we should all do the same. For Frisk; for a child who has given us all so much hope...for a child whose name no one bothered to learn. Can we not love this child as they should be loved? Can we not begin this journey by making our very first step one which supports them?”

“MY DEAR...THIS IS TRULY A POWERFUL STATEMENT TO MAKE. I WONDER IF YOU COULD ANSWER US ALL ONE QUESTION, ONE THAT I’M SURE MANY WISH TO HAVE THE ANSWER TO.” Mettaton crouches down. Allows the camera to slowly move in; until he captures them in portrait. A single filter and the angle becomes perfect; a light on the ceiling casting down into their hair, giving it an almost reddish down. Highlighting thin cheekbones and giving an extra shine to such vivid, entrancing eyes.

One that hides the slight bags that hide beneath them; the shadows that encompass the corners of their mouth; an exhaustion so deep set, it inevitably peaks through those cracks; ones that even an actor cannot control.

“WHAT SHOULD BE OUR VERY FIRST STEP, IN SUPPORTING OUR FAVORITE HUMAN?”

“Simple,” The child replies. And he does not think, in the few moments it lasts, that the extra shine to their eyes is an act at all. “Do not forget them. Do not forget why they’re here. Let the mistakes of the past remain in the past; we can do a little better. It begins with them.”

“TRUER WORDS COULD NOT BE SPOKEN.” He could make his voice a little softer, if he wished to. He does not. In the same manner that they cast a spell upon the audience, he allows it to break, panning the camera up and away; up to the fountain, and the glorious statue of himself that cheerfully pours water across the floor. The ratings are going wild- truly, he’s outdone himself. This child has outdone themself, and he would very much like a moment in which to speak to them. “STAY TUNED, FOLKS. WE’LL BE BACK WITH MORE EXCITEMENT, MORE DRAMA, AND OF COURSE, MORE LOVE, LIVE WITH METTATON AT THE MTT RESORT.”

Time for an ad break. He smiles and waves to those in the crowd; one that quickly devolves into cheers as he gestures to their tiny speaker. They look even more out of place, now, quickly bowing with a hand across their stomach, and he casually ushers them off to the side and out of the crowd.

“Very stirring, darling.” He murmurs quietly, “I imagine that any monsters not yet convinced of the need to re-enter the world in peace have just had their minds expanded. A beautiful act, all in all.”

“And your own as well, sir.” Replies the child, smiling up at him. He notes the way they never allow a single touch; always a good foot out of reach from even the hand that goes to rest on their shoulder, and the actions appear as natural as their emotions on the screen. Believable to all but the trained eye. “To redirect the audience’s attention from your desecration of an important relic.”

“I’m afraid such a direction in topic would be bad for business, gorgeous.” He gives them a smile of his own, just as sharp. “Of course, I’m sure you know that already.”

“Just as you would know the unbearable sensation of being unheard.” How-- very astute of them. They continue, as if their words have no weight to them; or perhaps understanding that their words hold a very great amount of weight, and refusing to allow them to go to waste. “I hope there is at least one child in this world who you ensure never feels that sensation, regardless of your past actions towards them.”

“I’m sure Frisk and I will manage to work together in harmony, don’t fret. However… considering your interest in the human, I do wonder; would you like to meet them, darling? I’m sure I could organise a very exclusive meeting, just for you.”

The impact of his words are immediate. They bite the inside of their cheek, light creases appearing at the corner of their eyes, and he doesn’t have to imagine that they’re refraining from laughing at him.

They are most certainly refraining from a very honest bout of amusement.

“No need. My Partner has already come to find me.” And they point towards the entrance to the CORE, to the human child who is speed walking towards them; faster than he has ever seen Frisk move out of battle before. Behind them comes the skeletons- and behind them, the royal couple, as estranged as they may be.

In moments, the ragtag group descends upon them, and that is how Mettaton learns that the first fallen human has returned.

And that he possibly owes them an apology for ruining their fountain.


End file.
